The Interview
by anondracomalfoy
Summary: The world stole what was most precious to him; he was determined to go through hell and back to set things straight. Even if the truth destroyed him.


_**The Interview**_

"_You carry the dead beneath your skin."_

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"So, it's my understanding that you wished to meet with me today on…what grounds? To discuss your parents?"

"Yes."

"Forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, but I was under the impression that any discourse on the matter was completely off the table. Or…so I was told by Seamus Finnigan when he attempted to broach the subject of an article on the story about a month and a half ago. What changed your mind?"

"Simple," The young man stated with a sigh, lacing his fingers together and meeting the reporter with a cool glare. "My parents were murdered. I intend to use this story—this _interview_—to expose it."

"…Mr. Malfoy," The woman began tentatively, biting down on her lower lip and glancing at the man seated across from her quite anxiously. "The verdict was cleared months ago: your mother was murdered at the hands of your father over fiscal issues, and when he couldn't handle the downfall of the scraps of his redeemed reputation, he committed…well, you know, of course."

"Suicide?" The Malfoy Heir posed, arching a fair brow and scoffing. "My father cared too much about his life to throw everything away. He was murdered…and so was my mother. And by the same person who has, as a direct result, made my life a living _hell_ ever since. Now, do you want the truth? Or should I pack up and deliver my story to _The Quibbler_? I'm sure Luna Lovegood would be pleased to hear that the legendary _Daily Prophet_ refused my story."

At this, Padma Patil's lips pressed into a thin line; her eyes narrowed into aggravated, accusatory slits, and with a great deal of frustration, she began to rummage around in her purse, extracting a quill and huffing as she yanked a notepad from the outside flap of her bag.

"Glad you see it my way," He said finally, his lips curling up into a small smirk.

"Where would you like to start, then, Mr. Malfoy?" Padma managed crisply, gripping her quill tightly in one hand and her pad of paper in another.

"First, I'd like a cup of coffee," He ordered, bending down and reaching for a large briefcase. Tossing the item onto the wooden table that separated him from the reporter, he tugged the briefcase towards him, fumbling with the lock. "Might as well bring in a tray of biscuits, too…and you're to address me by my first name in the article."

"…Alright, then," Padma managed, standing up and smoothing her skirt before heading over to the entrance of her spacious office. She threw the door open, peeked around, and beckoned her young intern over.

"…And Padma?" The Malfoy boy called out, a certain coolness about him. "Call my lawyer in, will you?"

"Certainly. Ms. Weasley, we're going to need coffee and biscuits for the gentleman," She murmured flatly, and the young woman nodded eagerly. With a sigh, Padma turned to face the fidgety man just outside the door, beckoning him inside with one hand before shutting the door behind them. Turning back to face the young man and his legal advisor, Padma clasped her hands together and forced a smile onto her features.

"…Right then, Scorpius, where were we?"

* * *

**May 1****st****, 2001 **

_I want to be remembered this way; wrapped up in your arms and tangled in your embrace._

"Granger," Draco breathed one lazy afternoon, his lips pressed against her wiry curls and his hands stroking her arms.

"Mmm?" She murmured, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks; he knew it unwise to wake her when she was so close to sleep (especially after days of being on edge about her upcoming internship at the Ministry), but…some things couldn't wait. Some things couldn't be contained; not even for Draco sodding Malfoy, the most reserved Wizard this side of Great Britain.

"Do you ever wonder how different the world might have been? You know…if he'd won?"

Hermione, who had been so calm and collected moments before, snapped her eyes open and shifted uncomfortably from where they were positioned on her bed.

"That's a rather…_loaded_ question, Malfoy," She managed, her voice hoarse with sleep. "But, for the record, I think about it a lot. More often than I should, truth be told, and sometimes I feel as though I've no right to reflect on it as much as I do…"

She was glancing down at her hands now, fiddling with them restlessly.

"…I'm not Harry, you know," She continued, exhaling shakily and moving to rest her head against his shoulder. "I've never had the weight of the world resting on my shoulders like he did…I've never had the sort of personal, intimate relationship with He-Who-Mu—_Voldemort_—that Harry had. So why do I feel as though I do? Why do I worry about it so much?"

She looked up at Draco, her brown eyes large and mournful, and it only took moments for her lover to wrap his arms around her dainty frame, tugging her close against his chest and burying his face in her hair.

"Because you're human…" He trailed off, his cheek rubbing against her tousled mane of curls. "…And because he challenged your humanity. He challenged everyone's."

"…If you're thinking you're still like them, you aren't," She stated finally, her voice thick and low with an overflow of emotions. Draco, who was uneasy enough as it was about being compared to his fellow…Death Eaters, blinked in shock and gazed down at Hermione.

"You're certain of that?" He asked, the question tingling on his lips.

"…Positive," She breathed, stretching up and pressing a soft and tender kiss to his lips.

The rest of the world might have been uncertain about Draco Malfoy, but Hermione knew who he was. And strangely enough…her opinion was the only one that mattered to him these days.

He had a feeling that would always be the case. No matter what.

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"So you're telling me, essentially, that your parents had a very loving relationship?" Padma asked, jotting her thoughts down on that little notepad she'd extracted from her bag. She seemed thoroughly unconvinced, which caused Scorpius' lips to twitch into a slight sneer.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, yes," Scorpius supplied, smoothing down his tie and glancing over at his lawyer, one Teddy Lupin. Lupin nodded at him encouragingly, and Scorpius felt confident enough to continue.

"And are you aware, Scorpius, of the amount of domestic abuse, assault, and bitterness that goes on in marriages behind closed doors? Looks _are_ deceiving, after all."

Padma seemed thoroughly pleased with herself, sitting back in her chair and offering Scorpius a triumphant glare. Just then, her intern entered the room with the aforementioned coffee and biscuits, offering everyone a shaky smile before depositing the goods down onto the table Scorpius was seated at. He murmured a low thank you to Rose and a small blush blossomed on her cheeks. She was the spitting image of her father, Rose was—red hair, freckles, and a pale complexion; she looked absolutely _nothing_ like Lavender. Strangely, Scorpius chose this moment to focus on her genetics. Must have been his nerves.

"I believe the phrase is that looks _can_ be deceiving," Scorpius corrected Padma, smiling at Rose as she stumbled back out the door. "Either way, though, your assumptions are incorrect; I was raised by these people, remember? If _anyone_ knows what sort of relationship Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger shared, it's me."

"And you're claiming that their relationship was founded on mutual love and respect?"

"Yes."

"…Mr. Malfoy…"

"—Scorpius."

"…Fine, _Scorpius_," Padma continued in a huff, flipping through her notepad. "Have you considered contacting the Minister or the Wizengamot about this? There's only so much I can do in terms of legality with this story; you know that, don't you? I can't be liable for spreading false information that our nation's leader hasn't been made privy to."

"Don't take me for a fool, Padma, I've already done everything you're suggesting…and implying," Scorpius continued, reaching for his mug of coffee and blowing on the steam. "Minister Shacklebolt has already been informed of the evidence I've collected, and he and the rest of his law enforcement are already on their way to tracking them down."

"So he believes you, then? Minister Shacklebolt?" Padma posed, unable to hide the shock that overwhelmed her features. Scorpius snorted, shrugging and taking a sip from his coffee. He smacked his lips together, struggling to decide whether or not the beverage was too bitter before finally reaching for the small ceramic cream pitcher and pouring some of it into his mug.

"Why shouldn't he believe me?" Scorpius countered, stirring the cream in with a long spoon and taking another sip from his drink. Ah, _excellent_.

"Well, you're just a kid," Padma continued, flipping another page in her notebook and jotting some stuff down. "Surely you can't expect the _Minister of Magic_ to take your word on this little detective case? Not when your father was already tried in front of a court of law."

"Let's make something _very_ clear, Padma Patil," Scorpius began, setting his drink down and leaning forward to rest his elbows on the sturdy wooden table. "I'm a licensed private investigator—it's my job to unearth these 'little detective cases', as you so _callously_ called my parents' murders. Now, I'll ask you one final time: do you or do you **not** want this story?"

"…I do," She answered finally, her voice softer. "Now…you were telling me when this all began?"

"…Yes, well, based on the files I've collected…" Scorpius began, opening his suitcase and extracting three manila envelopes. He spread them out before him, opening the one of the far left and extracting two documents dating over twenty years ago. "…I can safely declare that the source of all of this trouble started in mid-August of 2005. The year my parents signed a contract with the Ministry."

* * *

**August 17****th****, 2005**

"And the two of you are absolutely certain you want to go through with this?" Minister Shacklebolt asked one evening, weary—but intrigued—as he pored over the collection of files, data, and presentation pieces both Draco and Hermione had gathered for him to overview. Hermione was seated in a plush chair across from the Minister, wringing her hands together nervously and glancing intently at the man behind the large mahogany desk. Kingsley was a kind but just man, and had thus far proven to be extremely innovative and well-suited for his new occupation as Minister. He'd taken over after the fall of Voldemort, and since then had been working efficiently to build a community he thought people would be proud to be a part of.

Thus far, he'd been incredibly successful. Hermione just had a…_few_ suggestions to make; suggestions Draco backed and supported entirely. Suggestions his friends and former classmates would utterly abhor.

One thing was certain—it was sure to be one hell of a ride.

"Positive, Minister," Hermione blurted out, continuing to fiddle with her hands. Draco remained quiet, but rested a hand on her knee, as if to comfort his wife in her obvious distress.

"I must admit, Hermione, these plans are…well-thought out," Kingsley said with a sigh, shuffling through the documents before him and finally directing his attention back to the Malfoys seated across from him. "And I'm all for unifying the Wizarding World and breaking down the stone age traditions that cause a great divide, but are the two of you willing to sign your names to a slip of paper that's bound to spark a great deal of controversy and negative publicity from your opposers?"

"We know the stakes," Hermione supplied confidently, glancing at Draco out of the corner of her eye and waiting for him to add something to the conversation. He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifted in his seat, and finally replied with—

"And we're in."

"Alright then," Kingsley said, a small smile on his face. He was clearly pleased that both Draco and Hermione had decided to step up to the plate, though there wasn't a doubt in Draco's mind that Minister Shacklebolt had never been concerned about Granger helping out; he, on the other hand, still had a lot to prove.

To both himself and everyone else.

Kingsley leafed through his stack of papers, extracted an official stack of documents bound together, and flipped open to a page with lines for two signatures. He handed them a quill, sat back, and allowed a small smile to grace his features.

"Sign there, and everything will be official…sign there, and you'll both be in charge of campaigning and organizing the abolishment of pro-Pureblood laws."

Draco had never been so anxious about signing his name to a piece of paper in the entirety of his life. But he did it anyway; because he knew he had to. Because he knew it was _right_.

And just like that, his Death Eater status was signed away…and redemption was within his grasp.

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"So your mother and father signed the documents? No hesitation whatsoever?" Padma asked, clearly interested in Scorpius' story. The young Wizard nodded, pulled out a piece of parchment, and handed it over to her.

"This is a copy of the same file they signed. Right there—" He began, leaning over the table and pointing at one of the scrawled names at the bottom. "—is Minister Shacklebolt's authorization, and there's my mother's signature…and down there at the bottom is my father's."

"How did you manage to get your hands on these?" She breathed, astonished as she lifted the page up to inspect it under the light of her office. _Probably_ checking for authenticity. Typical.

"Nothing's out of reach when your mother is Hermione Granger," Scorpius said smoothly, and when Padma gave him a skeptical look, he added in—"Plus, they belonged to my parents; after they passed, I was given the rights to all of their paperwork by law."

"And you believe that this document is the source of the murder? Is that correct?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Would you care to…elaborate a bit, Scorpius?" Padma pressed, reaching for a biscuit and nibbling on one corner of it. Scorpius nodded, rested his elbows on the table, and cleared his throat before deigning to speak.

"You have a group of elitist Purebloods who are barely able to scrape by in the aftermath of a war that turned their entire _world _upside down," Scorpius began, flicking his wrists as he made elaborate hand gestures. "Gone was the automatic and pompous sense of entitlement that accompanied all of their actions. Families like my own—like the Malfoys—were suddenly forced into a silence that compromised their previous ways of life. And those who had just barely managed to slide out of Azkaban without so much as a slap on the wrists were hanging on to whatever _shreds_ were left of the Pureblood hierarchy that dominated our society. So what happens when a ruler is deceased, his followers are either forlorn or locked away, and his opposer is gaining power and control over the Wizarding World? That fragile system of elitism and prejudice begins to shrink; it grows brittle, and the once flourishing system of Death Eaters suddenly diminishes. And, what do you think happens when a bitter group of Death Eaters, who believe they have already wrongfully lost so much, come to the realization that one of their own—someone who descended from the _inner circle of elitism_—has betrayed them? What do you think happens to a society of criminals when they realize one of their most well-known comrades not _only_ escapes Azkaban scot-free, but also plans on abolishing what few Pureblood benefits remain."

To this, Padma said nothing.

"Absolute chaos, Padma. It erupts into absolute _**chaos**_."

* * *

**January 14****th****, 2006**

"Draco," Hermione began urgently, wand in hand as she made her way across the room and towards her husband. "Blaise is on the Floo for you—says he wants to discuss urgent news regarding word from Azkaban."

Hermione, who was panting from waddling as fast as she could into the room, rested against the wall and pressed a small hand against her swollen stomach, as if to soothe the baby that was furiously kicking inside of her.

"…I can tell him to Floo back at another time if need be," Draco commented, noticing how distressed his wife looked. "Are you…is something wrong with the baby, Granger? You're nearly as pale as I am, for Salazar's sake."

"No, I'm fine, he's just—mmm—kicking up a storm today, is all," She managed, offering him a weak smile. Draco, though still clearly unconvinced, kissed his wife on the forehead and murmured that he'd be back right away.

Stepping inside his office and shutting the door, Draco wiped his clammy palms against his freshly-pressed trousers before making his way over to the fireplace, which was currently ignited with a bright green flame and the outline of his dearest friend's face.

"Zabini—what's this I hear about Azkaban?" Draco asked, a sort of urgency in his voice. Blaise seemed to grimace in response, an action extraordinarily rare for the otherwise calm, cool, and collected young man. It worried Draco in ways he couldn't even begin to express.

"Draco…during my shift today, I…became aware through my superiors…" Blaise began, practically spitting out the word. "…that there's been a bit of an outbreak."

"What do you mean _a bit of an outbreak_?"

"Try to think back to our third year of Hogwarts. That sort of outbreak. And…they're gone. All of them."

"How in the hell is that even _possible_?!" Draco roared, his tone rising with his anger. "How could that many Death Eaters manage such a massive escape? Is there _no one_ guarding the bloody cells, Zabini?!"

"I'll ask you to watch your tongue, Malfoy—_I'm_ one of the people guarding the bloody cells, as you so eloquently put it," Blaise clipped out, his eyes narrowing in his friend's direction. "I understand your frustration, Draco, but attempt to be rea—"

"My frustration? My _**frustration**_?" Draco spat, pausing and glancing at his friend with wide eyes. "You consider this to be _frustration_? Half the world's remaining Death Eaters are now considered escapees, and you want to deem my feelings as _frustration_."

"Whatever you want to call it, Malfoy, the facts are this—they've broken out, and I suspect any day now they'll hear about the anti-Pureblood laws you and Granger plan on campai—"

"Draco! DRACO!" Hermione cried out from the other room, and all at once, Draco stilled. Frantic, he whipped around and faced the door, his brows drawn together and his heart rate accelerating.

"Granger? Granger, is it the baby?!"

"I—I don't think he's just kicking, Draco! I think—I think it's _time_!"

All at once, the color drained from Draco's face. _Shit_.

"Zabini—later, alright?" Draco ordered, turning around to face his friend. Blaise nodded, and then his face disappeared from the grate.

After that, Draco's day became little more than a chaotic blur.

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"Your birth was the same day as the infamous Azkaban breakout of '06?" Padma asked, aghast. She'd had Rose bring in more coffee for everyone, and now Teddy Lupin—who had been so stoic and silent the entire conversation—was now actively involved in listening to his client's retelling.

"It was—I came into this world when everything was a mess, and I suspect that's the way I'll leave it, too," Scorpius explained, examining one of the remaining biscuits before tossing it back down on the plate and brushing the crumbs off his fingers with a napkin.

"And obviously this was a significant time period for the Wizarding World as a whole, but…how did it impact your family specifically? What can you tell us about the breakout that changed the course of your parents' personal history?" Padma asked, quill poised and ready to jot down whatever Scorpius had to say. She was turning all professional again, but the young Malfoy heir was pleased to note that there was a certain sort of curiosity about her dark gaze.

"It's my own personal conviction that the breakout was the first in a domino effect; had the convicted felons not escaped, perhaps their opposition to my parents' eventual campaign wouldn't have spread so quickly and in such a toxic manner to all areas of the Wizarding World," Scorpius explained, his eyes locked onto Padma's. "As it is, though, what's happened…happened. It all started that day, and I'm confident that it all traces back to the same Death Eaters who started that little revolution."

"You mean…what? Rodolphus Lestrange and Yaxley?" Padma asked, astonished.

"Precisely."

"So…it was them; they were the ones who murdered your mother and father? Or…set it up?"

"Not…exactly," Scorpius began slowly, rubbing the palms of his hands against his trousers. "It was more like they planted the seed in the mind of another; it was their initial decision to attempt to escape and start a feeble revolution that encouraged those who remained to get _angry_ and _even_ with people like my parents. And that's exactly what they did."

* * *

**March 19****th****, 2007**

Fluttering in the breeze in an abandoned town square were poorly-pasted signs, all of which read the exact same advertisement.

"Abolishing pro-Pureblood laws will cause more harm than good. How informed are YOU on the social and political matters of our magical government? Did you know that four out of five people from Half-blood and Pureblood families unanimously agree that these laws are reverse in prejudice and progress and will place the Wizarding World back at least a decade? They benefit the Muggle-borns solely and will, in turn, remove many an outstanding Pureblood from positions in which they can utilize their wealth and status for the good of the community. Did you know that when YOU buy anti-Pureblood propaganda and promote their campaign, you're feeding into the lie that the Minister of Magic is selling about unifying the magical world? And did YOU know that the Malfoys, an age-old Pureblood family who have exploited wealth and status for centuries, are the leading benefactors of this anti-Pureblood campaign?

"So the next time you attend a rally or function organized by the Ministry, just note that you're feeding into the lies they've spread throughout their campaign; lies that have been intended for the use of helping the Ministry gain power and divvying it up among their sponsors evenly.

"Contact the Pureblood Alliance for more information on how you can help defend our own and protect our government."

These posters—and those similar in design and created by other independent organizations all designed for the same purpose: to shut down any and all attempts to break away from the pro-Pureblood laws—hung up in every public venue available. The Azkaban outbreak of 2006 had set things back immensely for his and Granger's organization; their campaign had been put at a standstill until the Ministry had been able to procure some of the missing inmates. And while some of the more prominent ones—like Rodolphus Lestrange and his second-in-command, Yaxley—were still missing, the Ministry was slowly but surely gathering up all of the remaining escapees.

"Draco, maybe we should keep our family outings to a minimum…just until all of this dies down," Hermione probed softly one evening after putting the baby to bed. "I feel uncomfortable taking Scorpius out when I know there's a league of Witches and Wizards who so openly oppose what we're promoting. It'll still be years yet before the laws are even able to go through court and be approved, and yet…everyone's so _terrified_ the entire world will change tomorrow. And for all the wrong reasons."

"Are you sure that's wise? Won't it look like we're backing down?" Draco asked, idly running his fingers through her hair as he flipped through some Ministry documentation he and Hermione had received via owl earlier that afternoon.

"I'm far less worried about our reputation amongst Death Eaters, Draco, than I am the safety of our child," Hermione huffed, her eyes flickering back and forth on the pages spread across his lap. Draco hesitated, setting the papers down and angling her face towards him.

"You know that I'm worried, don't you?" He asked, to which she nodded. "I'd never endanger your life or Scorpius'…and I don't think that we're in any _real_ danger. All of this propaganda…it's just talk right now. They aren't going to _do_ anything. The Dark—_Voldemort_—was the driving force behind so many of their actions. And with him and Bellatrix both deceased, their army lacks the certain…_drive_ needed to commit such violent acts."

"…It doesn't mean they're incapable of doing it, Draco," She whispered, fear evident in her voice. "Just because their leader is dead doesn't mean their ruthlessness is."

"…I know," He whispered, sighing into her hair. "I know."

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"Just before he died, my father presented me with a case of vials," Scorpius commented, and Padma paused mid-sip in confusion. Slowly, she set her coffee mug back down on the table, which Scorpius took as his cue to continue. "Inside, he'd labelled memories. Just after he died, I thought the memories were ominous; some sort of foreshadowing tool that looked into the fact that he wouldn't be around long after to share things with me. Looking back on it now, though…I'm certain he was preparing me for the death he knew was inevitable: his own. Maybe years before, he might have been able to spare my mother's life with a Floo call or an urgent letter to Minister Shacklebolt, had he been aware of what was being plotted behind closed doors. But when it was just him? I…"

Scorpius trailed off, swallowing noisily and trying to compose himself. It was evident to anyone watching that his parents had meant a great deal to him; hesitantly, Teddy leaned over and rested a hand on his arm, speaking up for the first time since arriving in the room.

"…It's alright, Scorpius. Go on."

"…Right," Scorpius continued, sniffing and rolling his shoulders, as though to brush off any negative emotions currently surging within him. "Where was I? Right…my father. When it came down to just him, I think in his heart…he knew no one would give a damn to save him. By the time he realized his murder was imminent, the rest of the Wizarding World already thought of him as a man capable of slaughtering his wife. He was locked up in Azkaban—absolutely no hope of a retrial or probation even available—and that's when he told me about the memories. He'd stashed them in the safe he and my mother shared back home; made it extremely clear that it was pertinent I obtain these memories before they fell into the wrong hands and were destroyed forever. He just kept murmuring, over and over again, 'It's up to you now, Scorpius; you've got to make them understand.' I think it killed him to put me in a position like that…to leave the ghost of his memory and tarnished name in the hands of his only son…almost as much as it killed him when my mother died."

"So your father didn't try and…manipulate you into fabricating a story for him?" Padma suggested, to which Scorpius glared at her.

"Don't be insulting," He snapped, and in that moment, his stern glare and snarling lips were a perfect imitation of his father, and his father's father before him. He was, in his heart of hearts, a Malfoy through and through. "My father would never manipulate me into anything."

Padma didn't seem quite so convinced.

"Fine," Padma relented when Scorpius refused to avert his glare. "What were in the vials, Scorpius? What memories were so important for you to see?"

"Ones I've relayed to you already, of course, in rushed detail," Scorpius stated with a shrug. "I've given them to the Ministry for evidence, so they won't be present at this little…meeting. Essentially, they were memories of my parents being happy together, memories of events leading up to the Azkaban Escape of '06, memories of the campaign against my parents in the years that followed, and memories that finally led to their demise. My father might have been an arrogant, proud man, but he wasn't an imbecile. He knew what he was doing…even if he and my mother didn't figure things out in time."

"So that's why you seem so confident relaying these tidbits of information to us," Padma said coyly, brushing the feather of her quill against one cheek. "Because you know them to be facts."

"I mentioned earlier…I'm a private investigator," Scorpius commented, wetting his lips with his tongue. "When I'm this far in the game, _everything_ is a fact. Speculation has completely been erased from my mind and replaced with cold, hard facts. I have a theory that the truth can stay buried only for so long."

"Interesting guesswork you've got there, Malfoy," Padma teased. "But are we ever going to get to the actual crime? I feel like this rising action's been going on for _decades_ now."

Teddy and Scorpius exchanged a look.

"…What?" Padma asked, bemusement clouding her features. Teddy, who had otherwise been a silent observer to the majority of this conversation, pulled a file out of the inside of his jacket, opened it up, and handed Padma a quill.

"Before my client discloses any further information with you, you must sign this form stating that you will not, in any way, shape, or form, twist the evidence and statements you receive tonight in order to manipulate his story for your own personal gain," Teddy stated, marking each place she needed to sign with a small 'x'. Hesitant, Padma took the quill from the young man, inspected the document thoroughly, and then finally sighed and signed her name.

"What the hell, right?" She commented, handing the file and writing utensil back to Teddy Lupin. Scorpius allowed the corners of his lips to twitch into a small, hollow smile.

"What the hell."

* * *

**September 4****th****, 2014**

"The Greengrasses have requested an audience with us," Draco commented casually one evening, leafing through the latest edition of _The Daily Prophet_ and pretending to busy himself with Quidditch scores. He could feel Hermione tense next to him, and as she set down her knitting supplies and turned to face her husband with a queer expression on her face, Draco knew there would be hell to pay if he didn't start filling in the blanks soon.

"Daphne sent me an owl today, claiming she has information on Pansy's whereabouts," Draco explained. Hermione's eyes merely narrowed in anger. The couple paused, glancing upstairs to make sure they could still hear Scorpius running about and playing with one of Potter's children, James Sirius (Original, Scarhead; very original), before leaning forward and murmuring in hushed whispers with one another.

"So does that mean you think she was capable of it?" Hermione whispered, clearly trying to handle the situation at hand as delicately as possible. "Do you think she was capable of…of what happened to Blaise? I know they had a falling out last year, what with…their break-up and the collapse of their business and shared stocks and…"

At once, Draco tensed. Blaise…his closest friend…

"I don't want to think about what happened to Blaise," Draco murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. Suddenly images of flames, bright and hungry, licking and nipping at his skin, filled his mind. Choking on thick, impenetrable smoke that filled the air and staggering from one room to the next, choking out a mangled cry of his best friend's name. Over and over again.

Stumbling into his best friend's bedroom, and finding him burned to charred bits in his bed. The sensation of his heart dropping to his stomach; of falling to his knees and begging and pleading for Blaise to wake up, wake up, wake up.

His slumber was eternal.

"…I know, Draco, I know how hard this is on you," Hermione murmured in a hushed whisper, breaking Draco out of his thoughts. He was a trembling mess of pent-up emotions and could manage to do little more than nod stiffly in response to his wife's words.

"Yes," Draco exhaled suddenly, and Hermione gave him a strange look. Realizing he needed to elaborate, he added—

"Yes, I think Pansy did it."

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"Your parents thought Pansy Parkinson killed Blaise Zabini?" Padma gaped, eyes wide and full of disbelief. Teddy gave Scorpius an uneasy gaze before reaching for a biscuit and biting a chunk out of it.

"Yes, they did—and not without warrant," Scorpius answered finally, tracing his index finger around the rim of his mug. He'd had more than his fair share of coffee for the evening and had requested a large pitcher of ice water be brought back. He almost felt bad for how furiously he was working Padma's poor intern this evening, but…if he was going to tell the tale correctly, he had to give himself enough time to fill in any gaps or holes that might ensue.

"What do you mean?" Padma asked, enthralled in the conversation at hand. Certain that he'd captured her attention, Scorpius continued.

"As you may well know, back in the early 2000's, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, who had been together romantically since 1999, decided it would be beneficial to combine resources and wealth and open a business together."

"That cauldron shop right on Diagon Alley—yes, I remember it well; my cousin used to shop there for his school supplies."

"Yes, well, they were primarily known for hosting illegal gambling parties; the cauldron selling was a cover-up, so to speak," Scorpius explained, pleased to note that Padma was obviously unaware of this information.

"If you'll look right here—" He paused long enough to extract a file with a dozen or so pictures, all in black-and-white, depicting Witches and Wizards bustling about an underground area of the Zabini-Parkinson establishment, dealing cards and gambling with Galleons and Sickles. "—You'll see some of the pictures taken by their security system during the gambling peak."

"What shut them down, then? Err—tore them apart?" Padma asked, flipping through the photos with immense interest.

"A few months before Blaise Zabini was killed in a brutal fire, Pansy Parkinson caught him in bed with Daphne Greengrass; Blaise claimed he'd been out of his mind and hadn't meant to cause Pansy harm, but really…who would've believed him? Pansy packed up in a rush, broke their stock shares, and threatened to turn him over to the Wizengamot for hosting an illegal gambling center in the basement of a building under his name. They fought in private for months; Blaise claiming his bitch of an ex couldn't do this to him, Pansy claiming he shouldn't have underestimated her…mostly catty stuff, really. Then came—"

"—The fire," Padma finished in a breathless rush.

"Yes, the fire; after that, Pansy fled," Scorpius explained, settling back into his chair. Rose approached then with the pitcher of water, offered the young visiting gentlemen a soft smile, and then exited the room behind her. Scorpius took a moment to glance after Rose before continuing.

"Anyways, when Pansy fled, she took her share of their business investments with her. Naturally, she was already an obvious suspect for murder among those who knew of the entire scandal. Whether she fled because she was afraid of appearing guilty, or because she was guilty, no one knew at the time."

"But you know, don't you, Scorpius?" Padma asked. It almost seemed like a statement, rather than a question. Still, he answered.

"But of course."

* * *

**March 31****st****, 2015**

"I'm telling you, Draco, she's as guilty as the day is long," Daphne snapped one afternoon, clearly irritated with the Malfoy heir's inability to condemn an old friend to Azkaban. She was pacing back and forth inside of Draco's study, wringing her expensive gloves in her pale, trembling hands.

"What the hell's gotten _into_ you, Greengrass?" Draco spat, observing his old Housemate from his position behind his desk. "You're acting more fidgety than Weasley when someone mentions an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Daphne paused with her pacing long enough to look at Draco, her face crumpling as she collapsed into the nearest chair. She hung her head in her hands, desperate, choked sobs fleeing her body and filling the air around them. Draco, who had difficulty processing his own wife's emotions, much less an estranged friend from his school days, could do little more than shift awkwardly in his seat until Daphne lifted her tear-streaked face to meet his own. Her makeup ran down her face in thick lines, the color of charcoal and smudged across her high, angled cheekbones. She wiped at one of her eyes, sniffing primly and speaking in a quavering voice.

"…You know Blaise and I were planning on running away together, right?" Daphne managed, her voice cracking. Draco paused then shook his head, clearly at a loss for what to say.

"We were. He and I…he was going to tell Pansy that things weren't working out; he was going to shut down the shop and we would elope in France and then move back to Italy. He had a place there for us, you know—we'd sometimes spend entire weekends there, making lo—"

"I _really_ don't need to hear about this," Draco murmured bitterly, and Daphne, as though realizing for the first time that she wasn't alone, blinked and nodded before hanging her head.

"You'll think about it, though?" She asked, and after a moment's hesitation, Draco nodded his head in confirmation. "And you'll be present at the meeting tonight?"

"I can't—Hermione and I are giving another speech at the Ministry on abolishing the anti-Pureblood laws."

At once, the light fell from Daphne's face, and she nodded stiffly before smoothing her dress and standing to leave.

"Right, well…when you realize your _deceased friends_ are more important than the success of your political career, you'll know where to find me."

And then, without another word, she slammed the door shut behind her, leaving an angry and confused Draco Malfoy in her wake.

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"Were you close with your father's friends at all growing up, Scorpius?"

"Not very—Blaise came around the most, but he died when I was still relatively young…it's hard to remember someone whose life was ripped away before you had the chance to properly get to know them."

"Of course, Scorpius…I'm sorry, again…for your loss. In case I hadn't made that clear earlier."

"You know," Scorpius began quietly, his eyes focused on the table in front of him. "People say that to me constantly; every day, every week, every month of my life is filled with people apologizing for the losses I've been dealt. But never once have they apologized for accusing the wrong man of murder. Never once have they claimed they were sorry I lost both my parents. Because I know the truth…"

He trailed off, scratching at the side of his face and sighing.

"…I know that, when it comes to death, they only care about my mother's passing. Little do they know, they stick her with the greatest injustice of all by telling her story incorrectly."

"And that's why you want to get the story out? To right the wrongs?"

"Something like that, Padma," He answered, a pained smile on his face. "Something like that."

* * *

**April 15****th****, 2015**

"What do you mean you won't present the case to court?" Astoria shrieked one evening, and angry and indignant look encompassing her otherwise fair features. Daphne, too distraught to say anything, hung her head in her hands as her body shook with silent sobs and tremors.

"I thought you had my sister's back—I thought you would defend your _dead_ best friend!" Astoria continued, her brows drawn together and her lips tugged into a pout. "Blaise is _dead_ because of this woman, Draco, and you ju—"

"There's no _**proof**_!" Draco snapped, loud enough to cause Hermione to jump in shock behind him. Fearful for her husband's temper, the young woman stepped forward and wrapped her hands around one of his arms, attempting to shush him and realizing it was futile. When provoked, it was impossible to calm Draco down; something about letting sleeping dragons lie and all that.

The Greengrasses were foolish in that respect.

"We have all the proof we need! Her _fleeing the country_ is proof enough for me!" Astoria yelled, her voice escalating to dangerously loud levels. Hermione's face became stony and she released Draco's hand, stepping forward and jabbing a finger in the woman's face.

"You will _not_ wake my son up and involve him in this charade," She hissed under her breath, standing in front of her husband in a defensive position. "Draco has every reason to doubt your claims…there are holes in this theory and we all know it. I'm hardly Parkinson's number one fan, but I won't convict someone of _murder_ out of spite and assumptions."

"So this is it, then? This is where we stand with each other?" Daphne croaked out suddenly, eyeing both Draco and Hermione with tears in her eyes. Astoria placed a protective hand on her sister's shoulder, ready to lash out at either one of them. Both husband and wife glanced at each other momentarily, but it was Draco who spoke up first.

"This is it. Get out."

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"What ever happened to Pansy Parkinson, by the way?" Padma interjected, interrupting Scorpius' train of thought. "Everyone assumed she just left the country and settled over in America somewhere; cut off ties with everyone. Friends, family, old co-workers and classmates…I heard a great deal of speculation that Blaise's death destroyed her; it was never deemed as more than an accident, of course, but…could she have known better? Could she have been responsible for his death and then fled to avoid punishment for her crimes?"

Scorpius stayed silent throughout Padma's eager assault of questions, scratching his fingernail against the tabletop and watching a flake of wooden polish ebb away. When she finally ceased speaking, he took a few moments to collect his thoughts.

"Originally, Pansy's plan was to run away, but not out of guilt or fear she'd be caught," Scorpius explained casually. "On the contrary, she became acutely aware that Blaise's death was no accident, but a murder…and she was fully aware that she was the culprit's next target. So, she did the only sensible thing she could think of; she shut down her accounts, gathered her essentials, and fled the country. True, she could've asked my parents for help, but…pug-faced Parkinson approaching Hermione Granger for a _favor_? I'm certain Pansy would've rather boiled herself alive."

"So she escaped, then? She can testify to this story?" Padma seemed thoroughly invested in this entire investigation, and before Scorpius was able to compose an answer to any one of her questions, she was spitting out another inquiry.

"Oh, she escaped…though her freedom was short-lived," Scorpius continued, a grim look encompassing his pale features. "You were correct in your assumption that she settled over in America somewhere; she built up a home in this bustling city called San Francisco—I like to think that she figured the farther away she got from the blur of her old life back here, the better. Either way, when I was able to track down her travel from here to San Francisco after my father's death, I went to every known Wizarding shop and district in town, asking every smart-mouthed American I came across if they'd seen or heard of a Pansy Parkinson. What I got, of course, hadn't been what I'd bargained for."

Sighing, Scorpius leaned forward, rummaged around in his suitcase, and extracted a small plastic bag filled with small trinkets and slips of paper. He deposited the bag onto the table, rummaged around inside, and extracted a small, laminated card. It had a lot of useless information on it—age, weight, height, state of residence—but then…her picture. It was, unmistakably, Pansy Parkinson. Though the I.D. on the badge read differently.

"Meet Darla Goldbloom," Scorpius explained, and Padma was quick to snap up the identification card, inspecting it and struggling to expose the woman in the picture as a fraud. "Pansy's fake Muggle identification card; after moving to San Francisco, she invented an entirely new identity for herself. I suppose she thought living amongst Muggles would protect her from the magical world…clearly, she'd been wrong."

"She was?" Padma asked, her eyes still fixated on Pansy's fake driver's license.

"Indeed," Scorpius continued, snatching the card from her hand. He placed it back in the bag, and instead removed a crinkled piece of paper.

"When I went to visit her apartment, none of her neighbors had heard of a Darla Goldbloom," Scorpius continued, fiddling with the paper in his hands. "At first, I assumed that she might've taken up yet another assumed name for extra protection. It was possible, but not…probable. That was the issue with Pansy Parkinson's disappearance; so much of it was _improbable_. Then, I started speculating for other answers—if no one at her place of residence remembered her, then who _would_? The thought troubled me so much that I eventually headed down to the Muggle police and procured a search warrant for Pansy's old apartment. I claimed I was doing a missing persons case, presented my badge, talked the case up, and was granted the necessary warrant. Child's play, really."

"I'm sure," Padma managed. Teddy snorted into his water.

"Anyway," Scorpius pressed, unfolding the crinkled piece of paper and laying it down on the table. "When I entered her abandoned apartment, it was in complete disarray; the place was still equipped with furniture, but everything was thrown over. And yet…no personal information; no notes, papers, nothing. I couldn't even find a damn Galleon lying around—_nothing_ that would prove it was Pansy Parkinson who had once lived here. And that alone begged another question…why was the place such a wreck? It looked like the space hadn't been lived in for years, so…why the hell was the apartment just sitting there? Just _rotting_? I left, more dejected and confused than ever before, and it wasn't until I was halfway across the street that an older man approached me. I didn't recognize him, and to this day, I still have no idea what his name is. But nevertheless, he informed me that he'd been specifically assigned by the woman who had once lived in that apartment to watch over and see if a man who met my description ever approached it. He then handed me the paper and then left immediately; I'm willing to bet Pansy paid him a handsome sum to do such a mundane task for her…and I knew at once that he'd mistaken me for my father. After all, why would Pansy Parkinson expect wee little _Scorpius Malfoy_ to show up at her apartment door?"

"And this paper…it explained where she went?"

"…It explained where she was going, so to speak," Scorpius said evasively. "The letter explains that an enchantment was cast on her apartment, so she was completely invisible and unrecognized by the Muggle eye—it would explain why her apartment was in such a wretched condition, why no one knew who she was, and why her living quarters hadn't been rented out to another family. She was being tracked, and she knew it. So, she wrote a letter intended for my father…a letter I know she must have intended to save his life. His and my mother's, as bitter as the thought would have made her."

"So Pansy, she…?"

"Yes. Pansy's dead."

"I…what does the letter say, Scorpius?" Padma breathed, her voice meek. Scorpius exhaled in a rush, reached for the crinkled slip of parchment, and began to read out loud…

* * *

**October 2****nd****, 2019**

"You seem tense," Draco commented one evening, walking up behind his wife and allowing his hands to rest on her shoulders. She jumped, clearly startled by his sudden presence, before sagging against him and worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She gave a low, soft hum of content when her husband began to massage her aching shoulders, relaxing back against him. Draco couldn't help but notice that his wife had been…extraordinarily out of sorts, lately; it worried him to an extent that he couldn't quite explain.

And he wanted to know why. He _needed_ to know why.

"It's the Ministry," Hermione breathed, though Draco wasn't _entirely_ certain that was the whole truth. "I agree with Minister Shacklebolt about extending these anti-Pureblood laws to other Wizarding governments, but…I'm not sure how much more of this I can deal with."

"…Are you _sure_ that's what's bothering you?" Draco pressed, feeling Hermione still against him. "You used to love all of that shit when we were younger; the busier, the better. That was always your irritating little Gryffindor motto." He was mostly teasing now, pressing soft kisses against her neck and trying in vain to pry the truth from her lips.

If Hermione had opened up about her worries and distress…if she'd pulled out the owl she'd received the other day from an anonymous sender regarding threats about the abolished pro-Pureblood laws and shown it to her husband, perhaps things would've been different. Maybe the chaos could've been nipped in the bud before it consumed everything in its path.

But instead, she turned and offered her husband a timid smile, kissing his cheek and heading into the other room.

"I'm sure, Draco."

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"_Draco,_

_By the time you read this, you will, no doubt, think of me as the soulless murderer Daphne has undeniably made me out to be. I'd ask for you to think twice about what sort of person you know I am in comparison to the lies that have been fed to you by outsiders, but…let's be honest, my reputation is about as redeemable as your own (Don't deny it, Draco; had it not been for Granger, you'd still be in a shithole of ruined social status). Whether you believe me or not, though, is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is…you've been duped. We've all been duped. I don't have much time to write this, as I'm being pursued as we speak, but before I try and leave town again, just know that you need to __**protect yourself while you can**__. They came after Blaise for his financial security, me for figuring it out, and they'll come after you and your wife for those anti-Pureblood laws you've been preaching about for the last handful of years._

_You've caused a great deal of uproar and distress from our side of the fence, Draco, and…ever since the Azkaban breakout, there have been…talks. Talks of removing you and Granger one by one and eliminating our greatest opposers. It's been passed down through the line, one supporter to another, and now…now, it's finally all coming to a head._

_Whatever you do, Draco, __**don't trust the Greengrasses**__. They will be your demise…they're sure to be mine._

_Pansy Parkinson_"

* * *

**December 5****th****, 2020**

He found his wife's body crumpled in the freshly-fallen snow; like a broken angel fallen to Earth. Her dress was a stunning shade of scarlet; the silk soiled with each snowflake that fell and melted into the fabric. He didn't know how long she'd been lying there, freezing and alone, but the moment his eyes had fallen on her limp figure, he knew. He knew she was gone, and yet…that didn't stop Draco from sinking to the ground; for crying out for help as he clutched his wife's body close against his chest. It didn't stop the sobs that tore through his frame, and it certainly didn't stop the way he pleaded with her to wake up, wake up, wake up.

"Come back, come back," He choked out, his eyes blurry with the sting of tears and his hands trembling with the overflow of emotions. His fingers caressed the back of her head and came back stained crimson and coated in her blood; his lips trembled and quivered as they attacked her mouth over and over again, hoping and praying that his tear-stained kiss would bring his beloved back to him.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up._

He cried Scorpius' name over and over again; begging and pleading for anyone to find his son—to _protect_ his son. And he kept chanting the same desperate plea over and over again.

_Wake up, please. Wake up, please. Wake up, please._

_ I can't do this without you. I love you._

_ Please…_

But, much like Blaise, her slumber was eternal. As was her husband's grief.

* * *

**June 16****th****, 2027**

"It's been seven years since my mother's death," Scorpius began softly, shoving away from the table he'd been seated at for so long. He paced back and forth about the room before finally settling himself in front of the window, content to watch the hustle and bustle of the city life below them. "And two years since my father's. Quite obviously, I don't have a memory to share of his own…yes, well, you understand."

Padma said nothing. She didn't have to.

"So…the Greengrasses are responsible for this? For _all of this_? The fire that killed Blaise, the reason Pansy ran off to America, your mother's framed murder and your father's feigned suicide?"

"Not all of it, of course…as I mentioned earlier, the entire thing was just a domino effect. They simply picked up where their predecessors left off, I'd be willing to bet. Executing any threat that stood in their way, one by one."

"But Daphne, she…she _loved_ Blaise, and she and Pansy were _friends_ during school."

"I've learned, over time, that prejudice and greed can make even the purest commit the foulest sins," Scorpius answered finally, turning around to face Padma once more. She seemed completely dumbfounded by their entire meeting this afternoon, and although Scorpius had approached her with nothing but business in mind, he had to admit…it felt extraordinarily gratifying and relieving to get such a humongous _weight_ off his chest.

Maybe now, things could finally be put to rest. Maybe now, his parents could find peace.

"…This is amazing, Scorpius, all of this data you've collected," Padma said finally, looking down at the files and items he'd brought along with him this afternoon. Her notebook was stuffed full of quotes and summaries of their meeting this afternoon, and Teddy was currently leafing through it, checking to make sure each and every fact of the affair was in order. While he did that, Scorpius went about packing up his belongings, and Padma hovered over to the side, wringing her hands together nervously

"I did what I could," was Scorpius' answer, and by the time he'd finally managed to shut the lid on his briefcase, it was clear that Padma had something to say.

"And I am…truly sorry for the loss of _both_ of your parents, Scorpius," She added tentatively, and Scorpius offered her a small, sorrowful smile in return. "I suppose…your devotion to them is what brought you to my office this evening? To finally unravel the truth they deserved?"

Scorpius grew quiet after that, fiddling with the handle of his briefcase and struggling to find the right words to say. It was only when he'd managed to reach the door, Teddy in tow, that Scorpius found an appropriate response to her inquiries.

"You carry the dead beneath your skin; sometimes, they whisper to you in the dead of night…they call out to you when no one else will bother to listen. I carry the dead beneath my skin every day of my life…and sometimes, I tell the stories they can no longer express."

"So you're like their—"

"I'm no one…just Scorpius Malfoy. Just a man wanting to right the wrongs of those who received improper justice for crimes they did not commit. They were my mother and father…I'll carry them with me always, but…it was their story I needed to set free."

"Well, _just Scorpius Malfoy_, thank you…thank you for their story," Padma said sincerely, smiling as she showed the young man out the door. "They'd be proud, you know…of how far you've come."

"I'd like to think they still are…wherever they are. And that I've finally set them free."

_And together, they fell into an eternal slumber._

* * *

**a/N: **Hey there, everyone! Well, Ollivander's Challenge is here again, and this time, I've decided to participate underneath the following prompt: "You carry the dead beneath your skin." Naturally, life started getting hectic and all over the place whenever I sat down to work on this one shot, but I hope you all enjoy the result nevertheless! I know I certainly had fun writing it! As always, don't forget to review! Have a great day, everyone!


End file.
